Whitman

Acceptance, courage, wisdom.

Grace, tonight:

“Whit, your eyes are the color of the sky. It’s beautiful.”

Whit, tonight:

“Mummy, I love you.”
“How much?”
“As much as the whole world.”

Running through my head like the neon stripe of words on the Times Square Jumbotron tonight:

God grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change;
Courage to change the things I can;
And wisdom to know the difference.

(Reinhold Niebuhr)

Whiticisms

Yesterday morning, Whit wore his “handcuffs” to soccer. Two glowsticks wrapped into circles and intertwined. Interesting.
When we got to the park, he was intensely interested in the porta potty on its side. He examined it, going much closer to the door than I thought was wise, and retreated holding his nose. “Mummy! I bet the pee and poop went all over the place!” Yes. Me too. Let’s play soccer.
Tonight, he was watching Thomas. Something (nose in my computer, I did not notice) happened to James, and Whit remarked, “That makes James happy.”

“What makes you happy, Whit?”

“That you give me hugs and kisses all the time.”

Thank you, Mummy.

It is nearing my bedtime (yes, 9:30, sad!) and I just went in to kiss Whit goodnight. I leaned down to kiss him, intoxicated by his clean sheets and sleeping smell, and smoothed my hand through his hair. I kissed him several times on the cheek, feeling with my lips where his face was since it is so dark in his room. I sat there for a moment, running my hand over his head. He was lying on his side, blue striped pajamas slightly visible against his robot sheets.

I stood up to go, sighing a deep, calm sigh, my heart clenching with the awareness that I was in the presence of time, childhood, dreams, sweetness, and a moment I will never get back. I heard a rustle as Whit rolled over and he whispered something I could not make out.

I crouched down next to him, thinking he was awake. He was not. I kissed his cheek again, and said quietly, “good night, Whitty.”

He spoke again, still in a whisper but slightly more distinct.

“Thank you, Mummy.”

Weekend in photographs

Despite forecasts calling for a Two Day Nor’Easter, Saturday dawned bright and clear and cold. Soccer for all. Whit spiced up his soccer outfit with his usual flair.
Grace and I headed to the Common, where the Orange Frogs played the Teal Something or Others. I confess I was not paying super close attention and I don’t know what the score was.
Later that afternoon, my dear friend Jeri came to take pictures of the kids. We went to a nearby park and just played. I was sent to the sidelines to watch and told to stop telling me kids “no!” – harder than it sounds!
Grace demonstrated her weird upper body strength
Whit developed an enormous crush on Jeri. I have never seen him be so cooperative or downright flirty with anyone (yes, Jeri, I realize he was not that cooperative, but believe me, this was some kind of record). I think he wants to be a photographer now.
Saturday night Grace and I started reading the book for our first Mother Daughter Bookclub, the inaugural meeting of which is next weekend. The Boy Who Grew Flowers is a charming story and I highly recommend it.

Sunday brought the promised storm. The children bundled up to go watch a regatta with Matt. It was freezing and pouring rain. Going Outside No Matter What is a kind of mantra around here.
Then in the afternoon I took Grace and Whit to see Where the Wild Things Are. Spectacular.